


The Mysterious Date Affair

by truthanddivinity



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Jealousy, M/M, Napoleon ffs please calm down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 12:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10741500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truthanddivinity/pseuds/truthanddivinity
Summary: Illya has a date. Napoleon can’t leave well enough alone.





	The Mysterious Date Affair

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as a standalone, although I consider it a loose sequel of sorts to one of my earlier fics, [‘Jealousy’](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8456959).

 

 

Napoleon Solo sat at his desk in the office he shared with his partner, Illya Kuryakin, the picture of diligent concentration as he wrote up a report on their latest completed mission. Occasionally, he darted a pensive glance over at Illya, who was deeply absorbed in reading through a thick sheaf of papers.

“Hey, Illya,” Napoleon said, very casually.

“Hm?” his partner glanced up distractedly, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Do you want to have dinner with me tomorrow?” Napoleon named one of his favorite date spots, an expensive French restaurant that was known for both its excellent food and its romantic ambience.

Illya squinted over at him. Amused, Napoleon rested his chin on his hand and watched Illya, grinning as he realized he knew his partner so well that he could practically see the thoughts going through Illya’s blond head. _Was it Napoleon’s birthday? – no. Illya’s own birthday? – no. The anniversary of the day they were partnered? – no._ And at this point he knew Illya would be mentally grumbling about his sentimental American partner, and gave Illya his biggest, brightest smile. Complain as he might, Illya was somehow always magically free of both work and personal commitments every year when Napoleon wanted to celebrate the anniversary of their partnership, no matter how busy he was on the days leading up to, and right after, the date of the anniversary.

Finally, Illya seemed to draw a blank and capitulated. “What’s the occasion?” he asked.

“Um,” said Napoleon. “No real occasion, I just thought – we could have a nice dinner together?”

Illya looked genuinely apologetic. “I’m sorry, Napoleon,” he said, “but I actually already have plans for tomorrow evening.”

“Oh,” said Napoleon. He hesitated. “Have a date, do you?” he asked half-jokingly.

Illya blinked. “Of sorts,” he said noncommittally, and didn’t volunteer any further information. He turned a page of his report and uttered a heartfelt sound of indignation at what appeared to be a mislabeled diagram on the next page. Snatching up a felt-tipped pen from his desk, he started scrawling furiously on the report, muttering darkly under his breath all the while.

Having lost Illya’s attention – at least momentarily – Napoleon turned back to his own paperwork, heart sinking. He hadn’t _actually_ expected Illya to already have a date. Despite the vast number of romantic overtures he’d seen Illya receive – from both women _and_ men – Illya just _didn’t_ date anyone. At least, not that Napoleon had noticed, and he’d been paying attention.

It had taken Napoleon three months, a few bottles of very good scotch and some intense soul-searching to admit to himself his burgeoning feelings for his partner. He’d then spent the next week convincing himself that the signals he _thought_ he’d been receiving from Illya _were_ signals, and not just wishful thinking.

The next three weeks had been spent trying to work up the nerve to ask Illya on a date – then when he’d realized he had absolutely no idea how to make it clear to Illya that he was asking him on a _date_ and not just to have dinner with him, his partner, which they did at least twice a week anyway, he’d spent the next week trying to figure _that_ out.

Well, it seemed that he’d failed on that last point, at the very least. And now it appeared someone else had gotten to Illya first. Napoleon sighed. Illya, always alert to his partner’s moods, raised his head from his report and quirked a blond eyebrow at Napoleon. Napoleon shook his head and Illya returned to his report.

Napoleon entertained a brief, insane urge to sabotage Illya’s date before common sense reasserted itself. He wouldn’t stoop to such crude methods – he could win Illya over fair and square. That was, if Illya was even interested in men in the first place, he thought, confidence faltering.

Well, it couldn’t hurt to gently coax some information out of Illya about the competition, at any rate...

 

***

 

The next day, a Friday, dawned bright and sunny. Napoleon had slept badly, having been plagued with nightmares about Illya asking him to be the best man at his wedding. He rubbed his eyes blearily, scowled at the sunlight streaming in his bedroom window and fiercely wished that it were raining instead.

His mood didn’t improve when he reached the office. Illya was already there, paging serenely though a thick scientific journal. All attempts at subtle queries about Illya’s upcoming date met with either noncommittal grunts or a disinterested silence.

In the middle of the afternoon, Illya made a telephone call in which he spoke in Russian too quick for Napoleon to follow, although he did catch the name ‘Natalia’ a few times. Did Illya sound happy? Excited about his date with ‘Natalia’? Napoleon couldn’t tell. He massaged his temples. All this stress was giving him a headache.

Illya ended his phone call, got up from his desk, and marched over to Napoleon’s desk. Napoleon started guiltily as his partner leaned down and peered closely at him.

“Napoleon, you look exhausted,” Illya said, frowning in concern. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine,” Napoleon said hastily. “I, ah, didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“Hmm.” Illya touched a hand to Napoleon’s forehead, and Napoleon immediately felt himself flush. What was _wrong_ with him? “You feel a little warm.”

“I’m fine,” he hastily assured Illya. “Actually, I feel great.”

Illya shot him a dubious look but didn’t argue the point, returning to the journal on his desk. Napoleon heaved a quiet sigh of relief and applied himself assiduously to the paperwork on his desk.

 

***

 

At precisely 5 o’clock in the afternoon, Illya stood up and snapped his journal shut. “I’m leaving now,” he told Napoleon, taking his coat. “Lunch tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Napoleon replied, pleased that his partner didn’t plan on spending the entire weekend with his mysterious date, at least. Illya nodded, then left their shared office, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Left alone in their office, Napoleon heaved a sigh, feeling a little dispirited. Despite his best efforts, he was still none the wiser about his partner’s date – well, he had a name, 'Natalia', but that was about all he had. He leaned his chin on the palm of his hand, considering. There was one other thing he could do...

Napoleon gave his partner a few minutes’ head start, then grabbed his coat and left the office himself. He headed to the subway station nearest the office and ducked into it, making sure to stay right at the far end of the platform. Peeking down the crowded platform, he spotted Illya’s familiar bright blond head and nodded to himself, satisfied.

He followed Illya onto the next subway train that arrived, hopping into the car next to the one Illya was in so that his partner wouldn’t spot him. An uneventful forty minutes passed until he saw Illya exit the train and quickly and silently slipped out after his partner.

If Illya had been on his guard, Napoleon had no doubt that he would’ve been spotted by now. He was an excellent spy, but he ungrudgingly conceded that Illya was his equal in that regard. His partner, however, looked as relaxed as Napoleon had ever seen him, hands tucked into his trouser pockets, looking like he had not a care in the world.

Napoleon followed Illya down a long, tree-lined avenue, round a corner and down two more blocks before his partner drew to a halt outside a small painted gate. Inside it was a tiny, well-maintained garden through which led a narrow path ending at the door of an old but well-maintained brownstone.

Napoleon glanced around, then quickly hopped over the low fence bordering the garden of the neighboring house and ducked behind a row of shrubs. He peeked out as Illya unlatched the gate, entered the small garden and latched the gate carefully behind him.

Walking up to the door of the brownstone, Illya dug around in his pocket, took out a key, and opened the door. _He had her key!_ Napoleon’s heart sank. He’d assumed that this was a first date, but that was clearly not the case. Did this mean that Illya and Natalia’s relationship was serious?

He waited until Illya had let himself into the house and shut the door after him before emerging from behind the shrubs. Silently letting himself into the gate that Illya had entered, Napoleon stood in the garden and looked around him, rather at a loss. He hadn’t really thought this whole thing through – he’d followed Illya on an impulse, and now that he was standing outside Illya’s date’s house, guilt was starting to set in. Here he was, invading his partner’s privacy – his _intensely private_ partner’s privacy – with no good reason other than to soothe his own jumbled emotions.

Hanging his head, he turned to leave, but as he headed toward the gate, his foot caught on something, sending him sprawling. His flailing arm knocked over a flowerpot, which tipped over sideways onto the cobbled path, breaking in half with a loud crash. The soil from the flowerpot spilled all over the formerly spotless path. Napoleon cursed quietly under his breath.

The front door of the brownstone opened abruptly and Illya stood framed into the doorway, looking startled. He blinked down at the man sprawled at his feet. “Napoleon?”

“Er, hi,” Napoleon said weakly.

A sleek, snow-white cat uncurled itself from around Illya’s ankles and stalked out the door, staring suspiciously at Napoleon with bright blue eyes.

“Oh, hello,” Napoleon said to the cat. “Do you belong to Natalia, then?”

The cat gave Napoleon a long, disdainful look, then turned around and stalked haughtily back to Illya. It sat down stiffly in the doorway right in front of Illya, pointedly facing its back to Napoleon.

Illya raised an eyebrow, then bent to pick the cat up. “This _is_ Natalia.”

The cat, once picked up, immediately went from radiating hostility at Napoleon to limply purring contentedly in Illya’s arms. Napoleon stared at it in disbelief.

“She’s my mother’s,” Illya explained, scratching the cat behind her ears. Natalia gave Napoleon an evil look, then tipped her head against Illya’s fingers and purred even more loudly. “My parents went on a short trip, so my mother asked me to drop by and feed Natalia.”

“Your _mother_?” demanded Napoleon. Illya had never mentioned his mother. Or, for that matter, his father.

“Yes,” Illya said patiently, “my mother. I’m told most people have one. You see, Napoleon, when a man and a woman love each other very much – ”

“Very funny.” Napoleon scowled. “It’s just – well, you’ve never really mentioned your parents before.”

“Neither have you,” Illya pointed out.

“Fair point,” Napoleon conceded. All the field agents tended not to talk about their families much, if at all; it was an ingrained habit for them all – after all, any personal information – especially about family members and loved ones – was information that could potentially be used against them. Given the current tension between the USA and Russia, Illya was probably keener than most to keep details about his family private for the sake of his parents’ safety, too. Napoleon knew Illya trusted him; probably the only reason he’d never talked about his family was that Napoleon had never _asked_.

“I’d like to hear about your parents sometime,” he said to Illya impulsively. Illya blinked, looking surprised, then smiled. “You can meet them when they are back from their trip, if you would like,” he offered tentatively.

“I’d like that.” Napoleon said, smiling back.

Illya had a really nice smile. How on earth hadn’t he noticed that before? He leaned closer, entranced. Illya, too, shifted minutely closer.

An indignant meow made them jump apart. Natalia wriggled in Illya’s suddenly too-tight grip. Clearing his throat, Illya took a step back and set Natalia gently on the ground, where she curled herself around his ankles.

They both looked at Natalia, who yawned, stretched and settled herself snugly against Illya’s foot.

“So...” Napoleon said. “I came all the way out here to see a _cat_?”

Natalia gave him a disgusted look, then turned away and butted her head affectionately against Illya’s leg.

“Yes, about that,” said Illya, then paused pointedly.

“What?” said Napoleon.

“ _I_ came all the way out here to see Natalia,” said Illya, “and to feed her. But I still have no idea what _you_ are doing here.”

“Ah,” said Napoleon.

“Ah?” said Illya. He tilted his head to one side and looked up at Napoleon inquiringly, blue eyes wide and beguiling. The damned cat on the floor looked smugly up at Napoleon with equally blue eyes.

Napoleon cleared his throat nervously. There was no actual way to confess that he’d completely lost his head and tailed his partner all the way out here to spy on what he’d thought was a date because he was _jealous_ without sounding like some kind of half-mad stalker.

“You might as well come in,” said Illya, taking pity on him and pushing the door open. He gestured Napoleon into the apartment. “Since you took such pains to discreetly follow me all the way here and all.”

Napoleon cringed. “So you, er, knew I was following you the entire time?”

“You may be very good at tailing people, Napoleon,” Illya told him severely, taking his coat, “but I am your partner. I know the way you walk, the scent of your cologne, the sound of your voice.” He moved around behind Napoleon to hang the coat up. Napoleon felt Illya brush against his back, his partner’s breath warm on the curve of his ear. “I could pick you out of a crowd of a hundred people with my eyes closed, _partner mine_.” Illya’s voice was low, intimate.

“Oh,” Napoleon said dumbly. He was finding it hard to breathe.

“I spotted you before I got onto the subway,” Illya informed him smugly.

Napoleon sighed. “You’re going to be absolutely insufferable about this, aren’t you.”

“I might be persuaded not to,” Illya said tartly, “if you give me a good enough explanation for what you are doing here.”

“Er, well,” Napoleon hedged. Illya just stood there and stared at him expectantly, arms crossed, patiently waiting.

Napoleon sighed. “The thing is, I’ve, ah, been wondering if you’d be interested in having dinner with me...”

“I have dinner with you twice a week,” Illya pointed out.

“Let me finish,” Napoleon grumbled.

There was a plaintive meow from the vicinity of Illya’s ankle.

“Don’t _you_ start,” Napoleon frowned at the cat on the floor. “This is difficult enough without you butting in.” He turned back to Illya, who looked from Natalia to Napoleon with a small smile on his face.

“Ugh.” Napoleon scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’ve been trying to ask you on a _date_ , okay? Except I wasn’t sure if you’d be interested, and then I thought you were going on a date with someone called _Natalia_ today and I panicked, and it seems that I’ve just made a complete fool of myself over a cat.” He looked at Illya miserably. “Look, can I persuade you to just forget that any of this happened?”

“Oh.” Illya looked disappointed. “So you _don’t_ want to go on a date with me?”

Napoleon stared at his partner. “Is that a yes?”

“Napoleon,” said Illya, “I have been trying to drop subtle hints about my...interest in you for almost a year now. However, I am starting to see that perhaps subtlety was not quite the appropriate method to employ, with you.”

He reached out, then, and grabbed the lapels of Napoleon’s jacket, pulling Napoleon in close and tilting his head up so that their lips were almost touching. “I trust that you are aware of my interest now?” he murmured softly, breath ghosting over Napoleon’s lips.

“Yes,” Napoleon smiled. “Yes, I think I am.” He dipped his head and closed the last half-inch of distance between them, touching his lips to Illya’s.

Kissing Illya turned out to be a highly addictive activity. One hand cupping Illya’s jaw, the other gripping his shoulder, he explored Illya’s mouth, Illya welcoming him with parted lips as they stumbled their way to the couch in the living room, clinging tightly to each other. Dimly, Napoleon heard a faint meow of protest from Natalia as she detached herself from Illya and fled for another part of the house. When they finally parted for breath, Napoleon found himself straddling Illya’s lap on the couch.

Illya was breathing hard, his cheeks flushed. “Much as I’m enjoying myself,” he murmured, “we should probably not do this in my parents’ living room. They keep a spare bedroom here for me – shall we move there instead?”

Napoleon leaned his forehead against Illya’s, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself down. It wasn’t an easy task, since he was still sitting on Illya’s lap with his mouth barely an inch from those tempting lips. “I do still want to bring you on a date,” he said.

“I’ve been waiting for you for a _year_ ,” Illya told him indignantly. “You may, of course, bring me on a date if you wish, but before that I’d like to be ravished _at once_ , please.”

“As you wish,” Napoleon grinned, and bent to kiss Illya deeply again. “Now, where’s that spare bedroom?”

 

 

End.

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I have backstory in my head for how Illya’s parents came to the USA, which I’d like to write a follow-up fic about at some point.
> 
> 2\. Natalia is a [ragdoll](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ragdoll).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Gifts for Cirnellie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14464722) by [JackyMedan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyMedan/pseuds/JackyMedan)




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